


A Cruel Joke

by Siver



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Angst, Blood, Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 00:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15107783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siver/pseuds/Siver
Summary: Rewrite of a Cruel Joke. What if Sissel wasn't able to save Cabanela or hadn't made it to the junkyard, leaving Jowd to find Cabanela instead.





	A Cruel Joke

Jowd hesitated at the maintenance office door. To think he’d be back here after five years; he never expected this, let alone under these circumstances.

The Justice Minister’s face had been pale as he repeated Cabanela’s words in a stunned and toneless voice. Cabanela called for the execution in exchange for the hostage. How could he be involved? That at least was an easy answer. He hadn’t been, not under his own power at any rate. Earlier in the night Jowd would have taken no issue with it; it was deserved after all and his life certainly held no value to that of a hostage’s, but now he knew better. Now it was his daughter in danger and he had learned too much. Now he had Cabanela’s gift weighing in his pocket, his guide to this point.

Senses he long thought rusted screamed at him. No, Cabanela’s call hadn’t been right and the whole situation was so very wrong. He braced himself and pushed open the door to find his worst fear confirmed.

Cabanela lay sprawled in a chair, one arm dangling awkwardly over the side and head flung back as if cast aside like some sort of macabre rag-doll. Unseeing eyes met his as blood trickled down his face and hair, red mingling with grey before dripping to the floor. Blood and dirt stained his coat—no longer spotlessly white.

Gods, what had he gone through? Jowd fell back against the neighbouring desk and covered his face with a shaking hand. One death was planned this night and it was meant to be his. Now Cabanela was gone and here was he who had been prepared to never see the man again. He’d welcomed his absence. One more thing to shed before he met the chair.

It had been so simple. Distance himself from everyone and leave nothing behind but a single belated gun. He’d planned his burnt bridges well. Or so he thought. Until the world spiraled out of control and he joined a new game. Until he found himself in the courtyard at gunpoint, how fitting.

Then the ‘old friends’ dropped out so casually and the man he tried to forget shifted seamlessly between Inspector and friend. He became too easy to read once more as though the five year gulf between them faded to nothing. Yes, he still understood too much for his own comfort in Cabanela’s words and in that smile.

And if that wasn’t enough, well Cabanela was never one to do things in half measures and that proved no different as Jowd caught the thrown pocket watch. The irony was pleasing and judging by Cabanela’s expression he knew it too. No good at choosing presents, he’d said. Not like you to lie quite so blatantly, old friend. Normal ones may have been up for debate, but there was no denying their use and this ‘watch’ proved no different in the end.

Five years without a word. Five years and if Jowd’s suspicions continued to prove true, he gave him the very tool needed to end this nightmare. Five years of absence on a five year lie and he still granted him this trust.

He caught the man’s eye again. “You always were one for the dramatics,” he said gruffly.

But it had all come down to this. It was Jowd’s fate to die and instead that fate fell to Cabanela. What a cruel joke.

He felt the comforting weight of the pocket watch and took it out to flip it open. Another path as suspected, a hopeful path to the end. Cabanela always had to get a last word in too for another victory point in his favour.

Jowd straightened. There was one more task before he left and so he found himself once again ministering to the body of someone he cared for. Cabanela would hate to look so disheveled, he knew. Jowd carefully lifted his arm to fold it across his torso and straightened his scarf, frowning at the ragged edges even as he wondered again at what happened. He could all too easily imagine Cabanela’s grumpiness at the damage. He brushed away what dust and dirt he could from his coat—a greater casualty than the scarf—he always did pride himself on it.

Then he forced his attention to his friend’s face and tried to think past the memory of tending to a different bullet wound in a different time and place. No, this wasn’t the first time he had blood on his hands and clothes. He pulled off his smock and used it to carefully wipe away what he could of the blood before letting the smock fall to the floor when he was done. He passed his hand over Cabanela’s eyes, gently closing them for the first time on this endless night. His hand stopped to cup his cheek.

“Good night, old friend. You can leave the rest to me.”

His hand slipped away and he turned, shoulders hunching with a deep sigh. He paused in the doorway, back to back just like the old days and he gripped the pocket watch.

“Thank you.”


End file.
